Lovely Letters
by Dibellan Arts
Summary: Camilla Valerius gives her competitive lovers a real taste of two-timing. [Camilla/Faendal/Sven. Mature readers only]
1. Part 1

Rated M for explicit sexual content and strong language.

* * *

"Go _away_, Faendal."

Camilla Valerius thrusts her chin in the air, squares her shoulders, and storms off down the street.

Faendal rushes to catch up wither her. "Camilla, please. Please just listen to me."

"Thanks but no thanks. That traveler told me everything—how you wrote that awful note, pretending to be Sven, in hopes that it would better your chances! You disgust me!"

"Camilla, he started it! He wrote a fake letter from me first!"

Camilla stops and whirls around, her black hair rippling in the sunlight. Faendal's heart beats faster—when she makes sudden movements like that, he gets a whiff of her perfume. Perfume from the imperial city.

Camilla's eyes narrow to dangerous slits. "You think I don't know that?" she says. "Seeing those letters—I couldn't believe it. Both of you. You're like children, tattling on each other. No, tattling would be better than trying to sabotage each other! Why didn't you come and tell me when you found out that Sven wrote a fake letter?"

Faendal looks at the ground and shuffles his feet uncomfortably. "I—I was angry. I wanted to get back at him."

"Get back at him?" Camilla's scowl deepens, accentuating her high cheekbones. "Don't you get it? If you'd just told me, I would have been upset with Sven and pleased with you for being so mature about it. But no, both of you had to behave like a couple of jealous children!"

"Camilla, wait!" Faendal grabs Camilla by her slender wrist, his heart throbbing in his chest. "I'm sorry! I'll never—I promise—"

"Let go," Camilla snaps. Her voice is like a dousing of ice water.

"No, please, you've got to hear me out—"

"Do we have a problem here?"

Faendal looks up. Lucan Valerius stands beside him with his arms folded, scowling deeply.

Faendal releases Camilla at once. "N-No, Lucan. Not at all," he says quickly, his breath catching in his throat. "I was just—"

"If I ever catch you with your hands on my sister again, I will end your miserable life, and that's a promise, elf," Lucan says. Dark haired and dramatic looking like his sister, Lucan Valerius is a terrifying sight when he's angry.

Even so, indignation rises in Faendal's chest. "I was only trying to apologize," he says, trying to keep his voice level.

"Keep your apologies. You and Sven won't be speaking to my sister ever again." Lucan's arms remained crossed, but his dark eyes glitter with malice.

Faendal looks disbelievingly at Camilla. Surely she objects to this? Fiery and independent, she is constantly resisting Lucan's control, but now she merely gazes down at her toes, not saying a word.

"Fine," Faendal seethes. "Fine." Unable to stomach Camilla's complete lack of indignation at her brother's interference, he spins on his heel and storms off, past the blacksmith forge, across the bridge, and out of sight.

* * *

It's another slow evening at the Sleeping Giant. Delphine mops the countertop with a filthy rag. She stares at the wall, not really seeing it. She mops the same spot for a good fifteen minutes before someone comes in and she looks up.

It's Sven. The boy shuffles over to the bar and plops down on a stool. He looks so miserable that even Delphine's interest is piqued.

"What's eating you, boy?" she asks, flinging the dirty rag into a bucket on the floor.

Sven starts, as though he didn't expect to find anyone at the bar. "N-Nothing. An ale, please, Delphine."

Delphine reaches under the bar and retrieves a bottle of ale and a mug. She pops and pours it for Sven, who nods gratefully, but doesn't say anything.

After a moment, Delphine goes back to tidying up. She knows from experience that if she waits long enough, Sven will eventually—

"Have you ever lost everything that matters to you, Delphine?" the boy suddenly asks, looking down at his ale as though contemplating drowning himself in it.

Satisfied, Delphine leans over the counter. "Well…" she hesitates for a long moment, apparently lost in thought. "No," she says, eyes glazed-over, "I can't say that I have."

"Well I have." Sven takes a deep gulp of ale.

Delphine smiles gently. "Does this have anything to do with Camilla Valerius?"

Sven chokes and sputters, spraying the counter and Delphine with ale. "It has everything to do with Camilla Valerius! And that smug elf! And that traveler! What's she doing anyway, poking her nose where it doesn't belong?"

"Woah, woah, woah," Delphine says, wiping the ale from her eyes. "Why don't you start from the beginning?"

Sven takes a deep breath and dives in. "Alright, let me tell you, I've had it up to _here _with that elf! I've seen him sneaking off to pick flowers, and don't think I don't know who they're for! Camilla's _mine_. It's only decent! She's a human, not an elf!"

"So what happened?"

"I wrote a letter. From Faendal. To help Camilla see him for what he really is—a stuck-up fool!"

Delphine frowns. "Sven, don't you think that was sort of… low?"

"No! I was only trying to help her. That elf is nothing but trouble!"

"Okay, okay. So apparently all didn't go according to plan?"

"No. That traveler—the one who came into town with Alvor's nephew—said she'd give the letter to Camilla! And she did, alright! She gave it right to Camilla and told her who really wrote it!"

Sven slams his head down on the bar and groans. "And now Camilla says she won't speak to me anymore!"

A long moment passes, in which Sven groans into the bar and Delphine strokes her chin thoughtfully. Finally she says, "Sven… give it time. I'm sure Camilla will come around."

Suddenly the door opens with a squeak. In steps Faendal, who looks around, spots Sven, and scowls deeply.

"You!" Sven booms, springing from his barstool. "You've got some nerve showing your face around here!"

At this, Delphine leans back against a post to watch.

"This is _Riverwood, _Sven," Faendal says acidly, his pointed features pinched with great dislike. "We can hardly avoid each other for long."

"Well you stay out of the inn," Sven snaps. "It's mine."

"Yours?" Faendal sneers. "Just like Camilla Valerius, eh?"

"You shut up about her! She's mine and you know it!"

Faendal's eyes narrow to slits of hatred. "Yours—ha! If you'd done _half_ of the things with her that I have—"

"Things? Things?" Sven gasps, his eyes bugging. "What do you mean, things? What things?"

Faendal laughs softly. "What's the matter, Sven? Too timid to make a move?"

"No!" Sven shouts. His face is red and blotchy. "We've done plenty! I just can't believe that she would—I thought—" he chokes.

"You thought you were the only one bedding her?" Faendal sneers. Delphine looks at the ground, her face reddening ever so slightly.

Sven plops back down on his barstool, looking thunderstruck. His face crumples. "Yes."

Faendal stares at Sven for a long moment. "Well… so did I," he finally says.

Sven looks at him miserably, and for the first time, something like understanding passes between them.

Faendal's contemptuous façade crumples. He heaves a deep sigh. He isn't sure how to feel. Betrayed? Maybe. But his love for Camilla and his despair at the thought of never speaking to her again exhaust him past the point of anger. He slumps to a barstool beside Sven. All of the fight has gone out of him. Suddenly he feels like weeping.

Delphine looks uncomfortable. "Hey—you guys aren't going to fight each other or anything are you? Because I just got all the bloodstains out of the rug from last week's murder."

Both of them look at her with big, round, sad eyes. She cringes. Violence, she can handle. But she's never pretended to be an expert on feelings.

"I'm gonna go… get… more mead," she says, and escapes into the cellar.

Faendal and Sven don't seem to notice.

* * *

The inky black sky begins to lighten as Sven and Faendal sit on the steps of the Sleeping Giant Inn. Sven takes another gulp of ale and peers across the river.

"We used ta take swims in there," he slurs. "All-a time. Naked, I mean."

Faendal leans his head against the railing, shivering slightly. He's not as drunk as Sven, but something inside him feels numb all the same. "She asked me if I wanted to. But I can't swim."

Sven glances up, surprised. "Oh. Well s'not so deep. The water."

Faendal nods. "Yeah. But I'd rather do it in the grass. Or in a tree. She climbs real beautiful."

Sven nods too. "She does." He smiles vaguely. "Bout everything she does is real beautiful."

The conversation dies and man and elf stare across the water. Each thinks of Camilla—her fine dark eyebrows, deep-set green eyes, comely figure, and high, sweet laugh. Nord and wood elf alike come to the conclusion that life without Camilla Valerius is no life at all.

The sky grows rosy and the little birds in the trees begin to wake. Sven groans and puts his head in his hands. "If there was somethin' I could do… anything to make it right… I'd do it. You bet I would."

Faendal nods. "Me too."

"I thought… presents… but she doesn't really like them," Sven slurs. "But I want to make her happy. I want to make her feel like a jarl."

"That's a tall order for a girl who won't accept any presents," Faendal says sourly.

"Hey… I don't see you coming up with any ideas."

"There's nothing we can do, ice brain," says Faendal, standing up in anger. "Nothing! We blew it, both of us. Lucan will probably send her back to Cyrodil, and she'll meet some imperial milk-drinker, as you Nords like to say, and raise a brood of imperial milk-drinkers."

"Don't say that," Sven mumbles, drooping visibly. "I'd rather it was you…"

Faendal's anger recedes. He slumps back to the step, exhausted. "I'd rather it was you, too. At least then I would still get to see her."

"That girl," Sven says slowly, and chuckles drunkenly.

Even Faendal cannot help smiling. "She's really something, huh?"

"Yeah… the only thing that really seems to make her happy is…"

Faendal grins. "Being bedded?"

Sven agrees with a loud guffaw. "She's crazy. Crazy little minx," he says affectionately.

"That'd make her happy…" Faendal muses, staring off into the trees. "Yeah… that's about the only thing that'd make her talk to me again, I think…" suddenly he smiles widely, his eyes glinting. "That's it!"

Faendal springs to his feet, still beaming.

"Hold on," says Sven sharply. All traces of his drunkenness are suddenly gone. "What's _it_?"

"I'll invite Camilla over for drinks… somehow… and I'll make her feel like a jarl! Massage her with oil… kiss her all over… drink her sweet nectar…"

"Oh no you won't!" Sven snaps, grabbing Faendal around the ankles just as the elf starts down the steps. Faendal crashes to the ground face-first, so surprised that he doesn't even try to stop himself with his hands.

Yet he leaps to his feet with surprising speed considering his inebriation and recent injury. Quick as lighting, he draws an iron dagger from his belt and cries, "Get ready to die, Nord!"

Sven rolls out of the way and Faendal's dagger comes crashing down on the step, lodging itself in a crack in the wood. Faendal braces himself with one foot and pulls on the handle of the blade, giving Sven just enough time to aim a drunken kick at his backside. Faendal tumbles over onto the ground, sending a gaggle of chickens screeching for the safety of the brush.

"Wait!" Faendal shouts, raising his hands beseechingly as Sven advances, fists raised. "We could both do it!"

Sven hesitates. "What are you talking about?" he barks. "It'd be stupid if both of us tried to do it! She'd never fall for it twice."

"Maybe, maybe not," Faendal says quickly, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

After a long moment, Sven seems to decide to cease-fire. He groans and plops back down on the step. "Elf, you're delusional. What makes you think she's going to let either of us touch her again anyway?"

Faendal seems to be thinking fast, his eyes flickering back and forth. Finally his mouth flattens into a thin, determined line. "I don't think she would… unless we proved to her that we've changed our ways."

"How?" says Sven glumly.

"By working together."

Sven contemplates the elf sullenly. Suddenly his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. "Wait—are you saying—"

"Like a jarl," Faendal cuts in, plucking a flower from the side of the road and holding it out in front of him, as though offering it to Camilla.

Sven looks slightly punch-drunk. "That's… that's…"

"Messed up?"

"Yes."

"Kinky?"

"Uh huh." Sven wrinkles his nose. "Which, of course, means she'd probably be all over it…"

Faendal smiles wryly. "Indeed. Not that I relish the thought of seeing you naked, Nord, but considering the circumstances—"

"Hold on," Sven interrupts, "I didn't agree to anything yet."

Faendal laughs softly. He clasps his hands behind his back and begins to pace. "Look… Sven… I'm going to get Camilla back, whether you want a part of it or not. I simply thought I'd offer you the same opportunity, you know, out of the goodness of my heart. But if you're too soft for it, I suppose I understand."

Sven snorts. "Yeah, that, and the fact that it's not going to work without my help."

The elf smiles lightly. "That too."

A long pause follows. Sven sighs deeply and gazes across the river. He doesn't feel like sharing Camilla with anyone, especially the arrogant elf who has been his rival since Camilla moved to Riverwood. But what choice does he have? It seems that he must either share her or lose her at this point.

"Alright," Sven finally says. "Alright. For Camilla."

Faendal grins, snags his ale off the railing, and raises it. "To Camilla. The jarl."

Sven smiles back—hesitantly—and lifts his own bottle to Faendal's. They come together with a ringing _chink_ as the sun peeks over the throat of the world.

* * *

It's finally closing time. Camilla props the broom up in the corner and sighs. There's dirt under her fingernails and she can feel a headache coming on.

Lucan is a messy shopkeeper. Trying to be subtle about cleaning up after him—restocking shelves and sweeping up in his wake—is difficult. He doesn't like to admit that he's the reason the place is so disorganized.

Camilla kneads at the base of her neck, breathing deeply through her nose. She wants a drink. But she knows that Lucan doesn't approve of her popping in and out of the tavern… especially when it's likely that Sven and Faendal will be there.

She grimaces. Her public display of complete and utter disgust for both of them has, without question, barred them from her life… she is far too proud to admit that she yearns for both of them already, in spite of the fact that it has only been three days since she last saw them.

Part of her always felt bad about two-timing them, but the thrill of it was so delicious that she couldn't bear to tell either of them the truth. They had hated each other so much already…

_So what exactly did you expect them to do, Camilla_? she wonders. Shaking her head, she removes the kettle from the fire, pours it in the wooden tub, and heads outside to refill it.

After several trips to the river, the tub is full of hot water. Lucan is at the tavern, so Camilla strips down and eases herself into the tub, prepared for a luxurious soak.

She dips her head and washes her hair with precious imperial shampoo. Then, with Lucan's oily homemade soap, she scrubs the soot and grime from every inch of her body.

Once she's good and pruney, she gets out, dries off, and dons in one of her less ragged dresses. She's decided that she's going for a drink, whether Lucan likes it or not.

She towel dries her dark, thick hair, braids it, and applies a spritz of perfume. She's not sure why she's going to all this fuss… Faendal and Sven will be at the Giant, of course, but under the circumstances…

When she arrives at the inn, she looks around for Lucan's disapproving face, but doesn't see it anywhere. In fact, the only people at the bar are Sven, Faendal, and Orgnar. Not much of a turnout for a Loredas night in Riverwood.

"Camilla!" says Sven, twisting around on his barstool, beaming.

Camilla bristles. Though she has been fantasizing about Sven's hot, wet mouth on hers consistently over the past few days, something in his eager expression makes her wary.

Orgnar is turning something over and over in his hands, but he looks up just as Camilla turns to leave. "Camilla, come in, have a drink."

She turns and looks at him. She hasn't had much to do with Orgnar before. He seems to keep to himself for the most part. So why does he care if she sits down for a drink?

"I hear you're pretty upset," he says, still examining something between his fingers. "Why don't you come talk about it?"

Camilla glares at Sven and Faendal. They obviously put the barkeeper up to this. "If you think I'm going to forgive anyone tonight," she says, nostrils flaring, "then I'm afraid you're wasting your time. I have nothing to say to either of your friends here."

"Oh come on, Camilla," Faendal says easily. "No one said you have to forgive anyone. Just come have a drink. Let your hair down a little." He gives her a knowing smirk that she doesn't like one bit.

Suddenly she realizes that he and Sven are sitting right next to one another, looking completely at ease. Her frown deepens. What in the world is going on? Their behavior towards one another should as antagonistic as ever. More so, actually.

Orgnar reaches under the counter and retrieves a bottle of Honningbrew Reserve. "C'mon lady. On the house."

Camilla looks from his face to Sven's to Faendal's. They look expectant, but not _too _expectant. As though it doesn't really matter all that much if she stays, but they'd like it all the same.

Camilla sighs. "Well… I suppose. But don't think this means anything," she says warningly to Sven and Faendal.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Faendal says.

Orgnar pops the reserve, looks around, and bends down out of sight behind the counter, muttering something about finding a clean mug.

Camilla gives a dainty sniff and sits down next to Sven. When Orgnar reappears, he hastily pours the reserve into a mug and hands it to Camilla.

"Drink up lady," he says warmly.

She takes a sip and smacks her lips. It has an unfamiliar spiciness to it that she finds… interesting. But it's still quite good. She takes a deep draught, sets the mug down, and wipes her mouth.

Sven chortles. "Only one woman in Skyrim who can drink like that."

Faendal laughs in apparent agreement.

Scowling, Camilla turns to them. "So you two are best buddies now?" she sneers. "Got a lot in common, don't you?"

"More than we could have predicted," Faendal says. He's still smiling but his eyes narrow ever so slightly.

Camilla blushes crimson. She swings the mug up to her lips and downs the rest of the reserve. Her eyes are watering by the time the last swallow goes down her throat.

"What a woman!" Sven cheers.

Camilla can't help smiling just a tiny bit. She hiccups daintily. "So you two haven't been sitting here talking about how much you hate me, then?"

Sven's grin vanishes. "No."

"Or how mean old Camilla did you wrong?" she presses. The spicy drink has emboldened her.

Faendal nods at Orgnar, who disappears into the next room. Then he leans towards Camilla, smiling slightly. "We've come to a bit of an understanding," he says.

Camilla knows his look all too well. It's the look he gives her just before he begins to undo the buttons on her dress. His gaze turns to Sven, and Camilla turns just in time to see the same look reflected on the Nord's face before it disappears.

Camilla starts; an unexpected image pops into her head—Sven and Faendal kissing roughly, their toned, naked bodies intertwined.

Heat floods to her face. "What kind of an understanding?" she asks, trying not to sound too eager, but the words come out in a rush and Faendal's grin widens.

"Well," he says, casually examining the contents of his own mug, "we've come to realize that there's no reason why we shouldn't be friends. We've got a lot in common, after all. Like you said."

Camilla can't help but shiver a little at the purr in Faendal's voice. She can't get the picture of them, together, out of her mind. Arousal sweeps through her, sweet and strong.

"That's… good," she stammers.

"Yeah, it is," Sven interjects. "Only we wish you were still our friend, too."

She clears her throat roughly. She feels hot and strange. "I'm still your friend," she says. She's not exactly sure why she says it, but it feels good coming out of her mouth.

She expects both of them to deny it, but they don't. Rather, Faendal caresses her cheek with his hand, still smiling, and says, "Then won't you join us at my house for the evening? It's a more comfortable place to drink."

Camilla knows that she ought to smack his hand away. She ought to be affronted. But here, in the dim light, with no one listening, she realizes that this is what she really wants. The wetness she feels between her legs confirms that.

"Okay," she says, getting unsteadily to her feet. Faendal follows swiftly, catching her by the elbow as she sways. It occurs to her that feels very drunk. It also occurs to her that one of Sven's hands rests lightly on her ass.

"Sven." She swats at it, still grinning, and Sven catches her hand in his. He presses it to his lips.

"Jarl Camilla," he murmurs fervently, looking into her deep green eyes.

She doesn't get the reference, but Sven's touch feels so wonderful. So does Faendal's. Sighing contentedly, she allows them to lead her out the door and into the night.


	2. Part 2

By the time the trio sweeps into Faendal's house, Camilla is pulling at the elf's shirt and breathing heavily. She kisses him roughly. He smells like mill and the forest—oh, how she has missed him!

When Sven's hands sneak their way down her lower back, her lips curve into a smile mid-kiss. She arcs her back, tipping her ass into the bard's open hands.

Faendal breaks the kiss, only to press his hot, wet lips against Camilla's throat. Camilla gasps and leans into his embrace. Now she is sandwiched between them, and—wonder of wonders—neither of them seem to mind it. In fact, their heads nearly touch as Sven wraps his arms around Camilla's waist and draws her close to him.

Sven nibbles Camilla's ear, and she moans a little, rocking her hips against his. He runs his hands down her legs, bends, and inserts them beneath the hem of her dress. Her legs are silky smooth—it would seem that the minx has borrowed her brother's razor again.

Sven grins and pulls the skirt up and up and up until he can see Camilla's panties in the flickering firelight. They are fringed with lace. Mid-kiss with Faendal, she moans as Sven's hands worm their way beneath the delicate fabric.

"S-Sven," she moans into Faendal's mouth. Faendal tenses. He bites her lower lip, as though to reclaim her attention, and she yowls sharply, tasting her own blood.

Suddenly her eyes darken and she pushes the elf away. With a wicked smile pulling at the corners of her lips, she whirls around and crushes her mouth to Sven's. She strokes the hard bulge beneath his trousers and he thrusts into her hands, a dreamy sort of vagueness stealing over his face. Faendal puts his hands on Camilla's back, but she moves away, still smiling beneath Sven's kisses, which grow more frantic as her strokes grow harder and closer together.

Faendal is angry. He grabs Camilla by the shoulders and yanks her away from Sven. Pushing her against the wall, he kisses so hard that his teeth cut into the inside of his lips. He crushes her beneath him, savoring the thrill that sings up his spine when his groin comes in contact with her pubic bone. Suddenly she lifts her legs and wraps them around his thighs. She begins to grind against his erection, and he breaks their kiss, gasping.

Suddenly Faendal feels a hand on his shoulder. It's Sven's. He yanks the elf away from Camilla, and she stumbles to the floor, crying out in protest.

Faendal whirls around, eyes flashing. He tries to sink a fist into the Nord's gut, but Sven moves away just in time. Sven is reaching for his dagger when Camilla springs between them, looking fierce.

"I thought you two 'came to an understanding,'" she says, still breathing heavily. Her eyes flash dangerously. "Or didn't you?"

Sven and Faendal both stare at her, red-faced with sudden fury. Faendal is the first to cool, his lips coming together in a thin, hard line. "We—we did. But he—"

"You did it first!" Sven bursts out angrily.

"Stop," Camilla says firmly. Her thin, dark eyebrows are dangerously close together now. "I'll leave; I swear to Stendarr, I will."

"No," Faendal says quickly, desperately. "Camilla, stay. We'll do anything you want."

Bemused, Camilla looks at Sven. He has replaced his surly, aggressive scowl with a smile that does not quite touch his eyes.

Suddenly she understands. Once she starts to laugh she can't seem to stop; her shoulders heave and she pounds the wall with her fist. They'd planned the whole thing—both of them. She should have known.

"Best buds after all then?" she finally says. Her laughter subsides, leaving a dark smile on her angular face, not unlike the smile of a particularly cunning dragon. "Well in that case, I have a… favor… to ask."

Sven and Faendal exchange a nervous glance.

"Certainly, Camilla," Faendal murmurs.

"Anything," Sven agrees, not to be outdone.

Camilla's wicked little smirk widens. "Kiss for me."

Faendal's one room cottage is silent for a long moment. Sven's ensuing swallow is as loud as a clap of thunder.

"No," they say in unison.

Camilla raises her voice in feigned surprise. "Oh—but I thought—since you _understood_ each other so well—"

"Camilla..."

"—and you did say you'd do _anything_, after all."

Sven and Faendal are cringing away from one another. This is worse than either of them ever could have imagined—Sven privately thinks that he would rather lose his soul to Sithis than put his mouth anywhere near that elf's.

"Camilla…"

"_Now_." Camilla's eyes flash. Then she smiles sweetly. "I don't see what you're worried about, since you're such good friends and all."

Sven and Faendal look at each other. Faendal shakes his head. "We might as well get it over with…" he sighs.

Sven tries not to step away as the elf approaches him. He closes his eyes and balls his hands into fists at his side—

Lips brush against his and are gone. Sven opens his eyes in relief.

A soft laugh comes from the other side of the room. Camilla is perched atop Faendal's bed, smirking. "I take it you want me to leave, then?"

Faendal gapes at her disbelievingly. "Camilla—"

"If you want me to stay, you'll make me believe that you two have _actually_ made amends," she says darkly. Her smile suddenly widens and she pulls her skirt up around her hips. Hooking her panties with one finger, she leans back and draws them down her legs and over her knees. Her bare pussy gleams in the firelight as she settles back, legs spread wide. She begins to rotate her clit with one finger.

"Now kiss," she commands, her cheeks flushed with anticipation.

Sven and Faendal can only stare at her with wide eyes. Sven swallows and his Adam's apple bobs dramatically.

Tentatively, Faendal turns to Sven. He knows that when Camilla turns dark and sensual like this there's no talking her out of anything. He remembers the time when she insisted upon shoving a greased sword handle up his ass. He could hardly walk the next day.

He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and pulls Sven in for a kiss. Sven is as stiff as a piece of wood and his lips are stone. Nord and elf stand there for a long moment, trying not to think and trying not to feel.

From the opposite end of the room come the squelchy sounds of Camilla pleasuring herself. "More," she croons.

Sven opens his eyes to take a peek at her, and what he sees makes him moan. She has broken out in a sweat and her plump, cinnamon-colored thighs gleam as two fingers plunge in and out of her pussy. She bites her lip and rolls her hips against her hand.

Seeing her condition loosens Sven up a bit. He kisses Faendal back, though he is all too aware of the elf's stubbly chin and broad, flat chest against his own. Ugh. Yet a soft, breathy moan from Camilla inspires him to grab the elf's ass in his hands.

Faendal flinches, but doesn't break the kiss. He also seems to sense how much Camilla is enjoying herself, and begins to grind on Sven's erection with his own.

"Undress each other," Camilla breathes. Her lips are slightly parted, her eyes glazed.

Sven feels like objecting, but Faendal grabs the front of his vest and pulls at the laces until they come undone. Sven stands unmoving as Faendal pulls the vest from his shoulders and unbuttons his shirt. Part of him wants to punch Faendal. But another part of him notes that the elf's deft little fingers feel… nice… against his bare skin…

Before long, elf and Nord stand before each other, naked. Both appear confused as to how they ended up that way.

At the sight of their bare cocks pointing up at one another, Camilla moans and begins to grind her clit with the base of her hand. "Keep going," she says. There is a pleading note in her voice now.

Faendal smirks. It's so like Camilla to be turned on, rather than off, by her lovers making love. He strokes Sven's cock with his fingers; it's hard and damp and sticky. At first Sven scowls and pulls away, but when Faendal wraps his hand around the base of Sven's cock and gives it a knowing squeeze, the Nord can't help but close his eyes with pleasure.

Suddenly Faendal stops, walks over to the cupboard, and opens it. He pulls out small bottle, uncorks it, and pours a golden liquid into the palm of his hand.

"What's that?" Camilla slurs.

Faendal smiles at her indulgently. "Jazbay oil," he says. "Relax, pet."

Camilla smiles back and slumps against his pillows, her gaze fixed on Sven and Faendal's naked bodies.

Faendal grabs Sven's cock, drenching it in oil. Sven closes his eyes as the elf begins to work him slowly, expertly. He tries to imagine that it's Camilla's hand instead, but the fingers are far too long, the skin far too rough. Oddly enough, it doesn't bother him much. Faendal presses the tip of Sven's cock with his thumb.

Sven shudders. He reaches for the bottle and pours a bit of oil into his own hand. Then, trying not to think about it too much, he grabs Faendal's cock. It's not quite as thick as his own, but it's longer.

Elf and Nord jerk one another in unison, trying not to make eye contact. Eventually they turn their gaze to Camilla.

Her dress and corset lie in a crumpled heap on the floor. She is stretched across the bed, naked and gleaming. Her breathing gets heavier until each exhale turns into a soft little cry, and she slumps to the bed, gasping, her fingers making frantic, wet pattering sounds against her clit. She gyrates against her hand for a moment, moaning deeply. After a while her whole body relaxes. "Mmmmmmm," she sighs, lips parted, eyes closed.

Sven can't seem to contain himself any longer; he reaches the bed in two long strides and bends over Camilla's bare legs, trailing kisses up her thigh. "Camilla," he croons. "Camilla…"

Faendal comes over too. "Was that nice?" he asks, smirking.

Camilla sits up, her face flushed and damp with perspiration. "Get over here, elf," she says in a low, breathy voice, and suddenly she is on her feet, grabbing Faendal by the arms, leaning into his long, sinewy body. Sven comes up behind her, his cock sliding between her buttocks, and wraps his arms around them both. Camilla sighs and relaxes against them as they trail hot, wet kisses down either side of her body.

"See," she breathes. "Isn't this lovely?"

Sandwiched between their bodies, she stands on tip-toe to allow their cocks to slide between her legs. She rocks gently back and forth, savoring the feeling of two hard, oily, warm cocks against her clit and anus. Faendal buries his face between her breasts, kissing them and nibbling at her nipples, while Sven runs the tip of his tongue up her back and kisses her neck.

Faendal and Sven notice when their cocks brush up against one another between Camilla's legs, but it doesn't stop them from thrusting gently. Camilla is very wet now, dripping down on their cocks. Somehow the additional wetness seems to belong to all three of them, and the boundaries between them crumble.

Abruptly Camilla turns around, looks Sven in the eye, and pushes him back towards the bed. He doesn't know what she has in mind, but he grins good-naturedly and allows her to press him down on his back.

Camilla climbs on top of him, straddling his hips. She is all anticipation, her cheeks flushed, her eyes alight. She positions herself over the tip of his cock, then eases onto it.

"Oh," she says softly. "Oh." She leans over him, twisting her shoulders back and forth so that her breasts bounce tantalizingly. Grinning, Sven takes one of them in his mouth and begins to suck. He thrusts gently; the bouncing motion makes Camilla's free tit slap his sweaty face repeatedly.

Meanwhile, Faendal climbs up on the bed behind her, kneeling. He has retrieved the bottle of Jazbay oil. After pouring a generous amount of it into his hand, he slaps it onto Camilla's soft, round ass and rubs it in, savoring the satiny smoothness of her skin. Then he bends over, pulls her cheeks apart, and traces her asshole with the tip of his tongue.

Sven begins to thrust harder, and Faendal's tongue is jarred out of position. Leaning back, he applies more oil to his fingertip and warns Sven to be still by placing his other hand on his leg. Then, leaning over Camilla and kissing her lower back, he touches her asshole with his finger, smearing the oil all over it.

Camilla sticks her ass out, making it more accessible to Faendal as he positions himself behind her. Gently, he presses the tip of his cock into her asshole. As he slides inside her, she gasps. The sensation is indescribable; she can feel the combined pressure of both cocks as they squeeze down against one another.

As Faendal and Sven begin to thrust against each other, Camilla's insides squirm—the sensation is foreign, but undoubtedly pleasurable. The pleasure builds and builds until she is clawing at the bed, moaning—she is desperate for release. The squelching of both cocks, plunging in and out of her body, pounding against her insides becomes too much for her and—

"Ohhhhhh," she cries, "Oh!"

This orgasm is different. It is frantic, writhing, and sweet. Overwhelming pleasure sweeps down to her toes and back, enveloping her in warmth and bliss. She's in a different world, yet she's hyperaware of Faendal's heavy body on top of her as he leans over, fucking her harder, grinding her insides against the walls of her snatch—she cries out loudly and falls upon Sven, unable to breathe. Her frantic contractions grip Sven so hard that he groans and buries himself deep inside of her, eyes wide, thrusting as hard as he can. He cums harder than he's ever cum, exploding inside of her with incredible force.

He groans a long, drawn out, animal groan, then slumps to the bed.

"Ahhhhhh," Camilla sighs. "Svenny came."

Faendal pulls out of Camilla's ass, smiling smugly. "Typical Nord."

Camilla smiles slowly, dazedly. She props herself up on her hands and knees. "Climb out now, Svenny," she says with a giggle. "You're all done."

Sven is far from chagrined, however. He slides out from beneath Camilla, turns around, and slides back underneath her, head-first. "Get that pussy down here," he purrs, orienting his head beneath her hips.

Camilla's satisfied smirk vanishes. She spreads her legs and lowers herself down. Sven gives her pussy a long, wet lick. She shivers with delight as his lips clamp down on her clit and his tongue rotates its head.

"N-Now fuck my ass, elf," she stammers.

Grinning, Faendal complies. The sight of Sven's mouth on Camilla's pussy, just beneath his cock, turns him on more than ever. He thrusts gently at first—then harder. The bottoms of his balls brush Sven's forehead, while oil from Camilla's asshole splashes on the Nord's face.

"Oh," Camilla cries, "oh!"

Faendal plunges into her. Camilla is no stranger to ass-fucking, so the elf leans over her back, drilling into her with everything he's got. Her round little ass bounces with each thrust, flashing with oil and sweat. Shallow breaths come through her gritted teeth. She cries out as Sven gives her clit a gentle nip.

"I'm gonna… I'm gonna," Faendal says.

"Wait," Camilla murmurs, pulling away from him. She smiles, then ducks her head and peers down the tunnel separating her body from Sven's. "Cum on both of us. I wanna see…"

Unable to hold himself back any longer, Faendal pulls out of Camilla and cums all over her asshole. Pleasure rips through pelvic region and up his spine—his toes curl in and out but he doesn't make a sound.

The cum runs down Camilla's snatch and drips onto Sven's face. Smiling lightly, Sven licks at a drop near the corner of his mouth, all too aware that Camilla is watching. She moans loudly and Sven slams his face into her snatch, pressing down on her clit with chin and inserting his tongue into her snatch.

Yet again she cries out, arcing her back and thrusting her ass out. Faendal grabs it and smatters it with kisses while Sven rotates his head.

"Ohhhhhhhh!" she shouts, "OH!"

After a moment, her rigid body goes limp and she slumps down on top of Sven, gasping for breath. Faendal falls on top of her, nestling his face into her back. Nobody says anything for several minutes, but the dimly lit room is filled with the sound of their heavy breathing.

Finally Sven says, "Uh, guys? I'm kinda squished down here."

Laughing, Camilla and Faendal extricate themselves. Faendal gives a Camilla a kiss across Sven's body, which Camilla passes on to Sven, bending over him and stroking his cheek with one hand.

Suddenly, there is a knock at the door.

Faendal's eyes widen with panic. He looks at Camilla. An unpleasant suspicion grips both of them simultaneously. Lucan!

"Under, the bed, quick!" Faendal hisses, springing to his feet, seizing Sven and Camilla's clothes, and throwing them at them. He leaps into his trousers and shirt as fast as he can. Meanwhile, Camilla and Sven drop to the floor and slide out of sight beneath the bed, dragging their clothes with them.

Breathing heavily, Faendal walks over to the door. What is he going to do? If Lucan thinks that Camilla is over here, he will surely storm across the threshold and search the house. And when he finds her—

Another knock rings out.

"Open it, Faendal," comes Sven's muffled voice from beneath the bed. "If it's Lucan, you can tell him Camilla's with me. He'll believe you; my mother will have told him I'm not home."

Even amid his panic, Faendal feels a rush of warmth toward the Nord. He smiles in spite of himself, takes a deep breath, and yanks the door open.

A woman stands on the porch. She wears a strange assortment of leather and steel armor. Though a mage's hood covers the top half of her face, Faendal recognizes her immediately.

"You!" he yelps. "What in the world are you doing here?"

She peers up at him from beneath the hood. Speaking in a low, soft voice, as though afraid of being overheard, she says, "I wanted to… apologize."

Faendal gapes at her.

"For ratting you out," she adds when Faendal doesn't say anything. "You know… to the shopkeeper's sister. I was in town and I thought I'd just…"

Faendal is silent. He contemplates the woman for a long moment, as though deciding how to react. She is afraid that he is going to hit her until a slow smile begins to spread across his face.

"Oh, that won't be necessary," he says with a laugh. "Not necessary at all." He leans forward and gives the woman a swift peck on the cheek.

Then, chortling, he slams the door in her face.


End file.
